Five Times That It Didn't Matter and One Time That It Did
by mangochi
Summary: Five times they kissed, and one time they KISSED.


**A/N: Well, I said I wouldn't post my shorter works here, but OOPS HERE THEY ARE. Some of them, anyway. These are the more successful ones from AO3 that I thought you guys would enjoy as well :) Happy New Year!**

**..**

The first kiss takes them both by surprise, as they step out of the third bar of the night. John is terribly inebriated at the time of the incident, and Dorian can only speculate as to the level of his mental facility when his partner reaches over and sloppily crushes their mouths together in a gesture that is as clumsy as it is poorly planned.

John tastes of alcohol and low Vitamin A, and Dorian makes a note to mention his dietary inefficiencies the next time John proposes another night at the noodle stand.

"What was that for?" he asks, genuinely curious.

"It's Christmas," John slurs, pulling back to squint thoughtfully into Dorian's face, then jabs a wavering finger in the general vicinity of the wreath hanging over the bar door. Dorian gives the decoration a cursory glance.

"John, that's not mistletoe."

"The hell it isn't."

"John, believe me, I can tell the difference between holly and-"

"Whatever. You liked it." John missteps over the curb and lurches heavily against Dorian's side. "Ah, shit…"

"Come here," Dorian sighs, and takes John firmly by the arm. Predictably, the man tries to struggle away and Dorian tightens his grip. "John, don't be an infant."

John gives up abruptly, and slumps into Dorian's grasp so that the android is forced to support both of their weights. "Merry Christmas," the man mumbles into Dorian's collar, and Dorian suddenly realizes that John has been steadily drinking his way through the holiday because he has nowhere else to be.

"Merry Christmas, John," he answers, and he somehow feels that it is insufficient.

...

The second kiss is just as unexpected and occurs shortly after the first, after John shakes off the hangover from the night before. He watches Dorian warily out of the corner of his eye as he signs in at the station, wondering distantly why he signed up for the holiday shift. It wasn't as if he had any inclinations to celebrate anything, though, and he supposes that is reason enough.

He has the vague suspicion when he looks at Dorian that he did something after the third bar, the one with the antique polished wood counters and unlimited tequila shots. He remembers vaguely the press of an unyielding arm and the odd taste of warm metal, and possibly the color of Dorian's eyes at a closer range than than had any right to be.

"What?" the android asks finally in the cruiser, two minutes along the speedway.

John flicks his eyes back to the front, but the damage is done. Dorian leans forward in his seat and peers curiously into his face. "What, John?"

"Last night," John says abruptly, because he has no control over his motor skills when suddenly socially confronted, and hesitates until Dorian supplies helpfully, "You were drunk last night."

John shakes his head in frustration and stares moodily out the windshield.

Dorian is quiet for about three seconds, fingers drumming on his knee in a way that is either written in his programming or something he picked up from watching other humans. John wonders briefly if Dorian ever watches him, and shakes the thought away.

"You're talking about the kiss."

John abruptly swerves into oncoming traffic and rights the cruiser with a violent slew of curses. "What the _hell_-"

"The kiss," Dorian repeats, not a little smugly, and John wants to alternately punch him in the face and die, because he does remember now. He remembers the feeling of Dorian's lips against his, remembers thinking dizzily how they yielded just like real flesh, how the synthetic skin was chilled from the cold night air.

"Shit," he says vehemently, and resists the urge to bang his head against the steering wheel. "Look, Dorian, I was seriously trashed last night. It was Christmas," he excuses feebly. "I...I don't know what the hell I was thinking, but-"

Dorian's lips are there and gone before he even registers the movement, and then the corner of his mouth is tingling madly.

"There, we're even now," Dorian says offhandedly and looks out his window. John stares steadily ahead of him for the rest of shift. They don't talk about Christmas again after that.

...

The third kiss is purely out of necessity, and John swears up and down afterwards that it's all Dorian's fault. Their cover is on the verge of being blown to unsalvageable pieces, and the Love Life, Love All recruiter is watching them oddly. They look nothing like a supposed android-human couple, what with John's withdrawn scowl as he mostly likely imagines his reputation trickling down the drain, prodded along merrily by one Richard Paul.

So Dorian steps in helpfully and says, "We're very much in love, ma'am, I assure you."

Both the recruiter and his supposed passionate lover peer at him suspiciously, John with an edge of horror that Dorian blatantly ignores. He smiles at the recruiter instead and makes his circuits light up in the way that females seem to be find appealing.

The woman remains stoutly unconvinced. She gives Dorian a skeptical once-over, and turns her critical eye to John. "Uh huh. You're gonna have to do better than that, sweetheart."

There is really only one option left at this point, and Dorian takes it before John can say a word. He steps in close and reaches up, cupping the back of John's neck in a way that he hopes appears more loving and tender than the restricting grip it really is, and kisses him full on the mouth.

"Ahhh," sighs the woman happily.

"Mmphrghh!" gurgles John, eyes bulging, and Dorian hastily emits a low, throaty moan that he hopes conveys the proper atmosphere. He tightens his hold, gripping the short strands of hair at the back of John's head, and slants his mouth harder against John's. He's fairly surprised when the man's mouth softens instantly beneath him, a hand snaking around to clutch at Dorian's jacket.

John's eyes are clenched tightly shut as they kiss, a trait Dorian somehow finds endearing, and he counts the crow's feet at the corner of John's eyes until the man pushes at him breathlessly.

John is flushed when he pulls back, his mouth red and slack, and he doesn't look at Dorian for a long time. The recruiter beams approvingly at them, though the look on her face is somewhat spoiled when the two of them arrest her brother for multiple possession charges.

...

Dorian steals the next kiss, and he can only bring himself to feel mildly guilty about it. It's for science, he reminds himself. Collected observations on the complexities of the human kiss. It is, after all, an art of some sort, and he takes pride in the fact that he's a fast learner.

John is sleeping at the time, and Dorian is somewhat disappointed that he's not awake to witness Dorian's amazing kissing abilities. It's 0400, six hours into the stakeout, and the detective is sprawled against the driver's side of the cruiser, head tilted back against the window. At another time, Dorian might have woken him for the sheer pleasure of pointing out his failure to stay alert on duty, but now he merely takes the time to consider the sleeping man.

John is not unattractive, and something strange and unidentified surges in Dorian's chest whenever hazel eyes squint and laugh and glare at him. He's so _alive_, so warm, and Dorian has already known the taste of his lips three times. What's one more, he reasons.

Dorian's shuffling sideways in his seat before he fully knows it, leaning over and inspecting John's sleeping face. His muscles are slack in unconsciousness, mouth slightly open and the perpetual wrinkle between his brows smoothed over. He looks altogether too young, too vulnerable.

John's breath is warm and slightly irregular. Dorian tilts closer and takes John's lower lip between his own. It's soft and dry, and he traces the edge of it curiously with the tip of his tongue. John shifts in his sleep, and grumbles. Dorian can feel the vibrations in his lips, his fingertips, and he presses closer to deepen the kiss.

John sighs, and Dorian stills, but the man only opens into the kiss, his tongue sliding sleepily into Dorian's mouth.

The android pulls back sharply, startled despite himself, and John frowns, his lips slick and parted, snuffling as he tucks his head into the collar of his jacket and begins to snore.

Dorian doesn't have a heartbeat, but he suspects that it would be racing if he did.

...

The fifth kiss tastes of blood and lightning and a plan gone very wrong. John cradles Dorian's head in his lap, ignoring the jagged pain of the bullet wound in his left shoulder. It's a clean shot, and there's a certain numbness spreading now that renders him cold and the pain distant, so he puts it out of his mind. He's far more concerned with the fading of Dorian's eyes and the sparking of the holes peppering his partner's torso. Dorian has taken shots before, but not like this, not this many, and John realizes with a sickening lurch that this time, that he might have taken one too many.

"Come on, man, stay with me," he mutters anxiously, slapping at Dorian's cheek. "Come on, Dorian."

"John," Dorian rasps, and his voice is edged with grating static. His head twitches to the side in a spasm, and John holds him tighter, worry pounding in his chest.

"Dorian, hold on, you're going to be okay. They're bringing Rudy, he'll-"

"John."

He rambles on, suddenly aware of the cold asphalt beneath his knees, the hot blood trickling down his side, the howl of too-far sirens. "We'll get patched up and we'll go out to that place you like. With the disco ball. Hell, I'll get you one, you can hang it up in the charging station and screw all the MXs-"

"John."

"Stop saying it like that, damn it, you're going to be okay." John squeezes his eyes shut, forces himself to take a shuddering breath. Dorian's skin is cold beneath his palms, and he can't tell if it's because of the android or his own blood loss.

"You're...hurt…" Dorian says, his voice buzzing with broken synapses, and he's _sincere_ too, the idiot.

John wants to laugh and cry and wonders dizzily if he already is. "Shut the hell up, man, you're pretty banged up yourself, you know." He pats at Dorian's face clumsily with a shaking hand. "Dorian?"

Dorian's quiet, and his eyes don't see John. John bends over frantically, listening for a hum of electricity, a sparking of circuits. There's nothing, and he panics. "You okay? Dorian, I swear to God, if you're messing with me-"

He can see the glimmer of red and blue lights in the distance, but it's probably too late and he's too cold to cry. "Dorian, Christ, stay with me." His voice cracks and all he can think of is the way Dorian said his name before he takes the five bullets meant for him, the way he looked at John like he _knew_. He presses his lips to Dorian's forehead, his mouth, awkward because of the angle, because it's all he can do, and his tears are so warm that they burn. He doesn't remember the medics pulling him away.

…

Dorian sits beside John's bed and waits for him to wake. His scans assure him that the man will regain consciousness in six point three minutes, but there's something tantalizing about the wait that makes him watch John's face intently.

His partner looks considerably haggard, two days' worth of stubble darkening his pale and drawn face. There are bruised smudges beneath his closed eyes, and his heartbeat is almost erratic enough to cause Dorian concern. John's wound is fairly mild in comparison to the injuries that had landed him in a comatose state for two years, but Dorian was told that he entered into shock just as the medics arrived.

In other words, it was a close situation all around, and Dorian remembers vaguely the coldness of John's hands against the sides of his face on that cold warehouse floor. His memory units were slightly damaged in the shooting, as well as a few minor motor capabilities. His leg suddenly jitters, as if to prove his point, and he presses it back down firmly. Rudy warned him there might be a few residual effects until the rest of his custom parts arrive and pressured him to remain at the station until his repairs were complete, but he wanted to see John.

He wants to see John.

The monitors beep gently in warning, and the hand that Dorian has slid his own fingers under tighten reflexively as John struggles awake. Dorian straightens instantly. "John?"

"Mmmmph," John groans, squinting blearily at him. His eyes widen, and the monitors shriek briefly before Dorian hastily overrides the frequencies. "_Dorian_," John gasps, and he's suddenly squeezing Dorian's hand with surprising strength. "You- how- _shit_, are you-"

"I'm fine," Dorian reassures him, glad that his voice doesn't flicker out this time like it has been for the last ten hours. "A few pounds lighter than yesterday, but you should really see Valerie on that new diet." He deadpans the feeble line, knowing it'd make John scoff, but the man only stares at him with wide eyes and Dorian falters slightly. He doesn't know how to handle a John that isn't angry or sarcastic, and there's nothing in his programming to prepare for what he sees in those gaunt, currently livid eyes.

"You idiot," John finally says, and he pulls his hand sharply away from Dorian's, glaring at him wildly. "I thought you _died_!"

Dorian blinks slowly and pulls his hand off the bed placatingly. "John, I-"

"I thought you were _dead_," John says again for emphasis, eyebrows slanting down furiously. "I thought you-you- I _kissed _you, you asshole!" he splutters, color rising in his pale face, and there's a small quiver in his voice that Dorian doesn't think is completely due to anger. "I fucking kissed you, and you walk in here like there's absolutely nothing wrong and everything is fucking fine and-" He pounds the mattress with his fist and scowls brokenly. "I hate you sometimes, you know that?"

Ah.

John only truly swears when he's more upset than he's letting on, and Dorian knows him well enough now to read every expression that passes his face, every twitch and move and wrinkle, and right now, John is hurting worse than Dorian's ever seen him.

John opens his mouth again to no doubt deliver another sharp and cutting reprimand, and Dorian leans forward before he can say a word, silencing him with the pressure of his own mouth. It takes John only an instant before his hands are rising to clutch at Dorian's arms, lips parting helplessly and his tongue pushing hot and wet against Dorian's.

The kiss grows harder and more desperate, John breathing in shallow gasps in the fleeting in-between moments, and Dorian watches him with open-eyed fascination."You bastard," John mumbles into his mouth, and Dorian kisses him again to shut him up. John is much more malleable when he is silent, he's beginning to find.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, and John shudders beneath him, sagging for a moment before pulling back to glare at him.

"Don't you dare pull a stunt like that again," John tells him fiercely, and Dorian brings his own hands up to hold John's face. He's proud that his fingers don't shake. He doesn't promise John, not in so many words, and they both know it would have meant nothing, anyway. Five bullets or fifteen, Dorian would take them for John anyday. He brands his own personal promise into John's mouth instead, signs it with his lips and tongue, and for once they're both in complete agreement.


End file.
